Metal Gear GENE: The True Patriot
by Farmboy28
Summary: Scene 4 is here. Gene awakes from his "death" after the San Hieronymo incident to find himself in an unfamiliar place. Lost and confused, he finds that this new world and a certain individual has plans for him, and he must fight if he hopes to survive.
1. Progene

Prologue: Gene Disappears

Click, clack, click.

The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the empty halls.

Click, clack, click.

From the total darkness of night, a silent, shapeless shadow emerged. It glided swiftly down the desolate corridor, down the empty halls where corpses lay, maggot ridden and flesh decaying. As it glided, it gazed upon a sea of corpses, silent and still staring blankly at the figureless being as they had in life. The shadow, perhaps blind or apathetic, treaded past the empty shells with little more than glance, and cautiously approached the entrance which had once been guarded.

The colossal metal door hissed open with a sound reminiscent of a Snake. Only several footsteps in yet another body was seen, but different from that of the others. The shadow hovered around this intriguing flesh, bending down and softly caressing its cheek. Unlike the others, this one was untouched; unlike the others, this one was female, young at that; it let its deformed hand slide down her body; perhaps only thirteen or fourteen years. Around the fragile remains lay shattered glass, and burnt wreckage of all shapes and sizes; and through her heart, rest a glistening fragment of steel.

A knife. Or at least part of it. He could not tell clearly. The shadow inquired no further into the matter, and allowed its eyes to wander the barren room, until it finally rested upon a gap, where a window or a glass panel once remained. Quietly summoning its strength, the shapeless form leapt through the jagged opening with swift elegance, landing perfectly on the other end, unscathed and pleased with itself.

Gliding once more with the swiftness of a vengeful spectre, the form analyzed its surrounding once more, absorbing the information and momentarily allowing itself to be overtaken by the sensory overload. Regaining its initial thoughts, it swept through the room and observed a lone body.

The carcass was hanging against a rail, as if to try to support itself long after its final moments. The body had been of a man who, not too long ago, bled blood; he was covered with deep gashes, some as long as a snake, winding all over his body. He had a most fine physique, and glimmering silver hair, and oddity for the man could not have been older than his late 40's. Resting on its head was a simple beret, along with an even odder suit and a quite plain trench coat. Carefully feeling his subject, the shadow grinned. This was its target. This was its objective.

"I have finally found you."

The shadow placed its ear on the man's chest, and listened carefully. A faint beat could be heard, only detectable by the sharpest of ears (If ears could be sharp). The man was not dead; a temporary comatose and some bullet wounds, nothing a good pair of tweezers and time could not fix. This caused the shadow to grin even more. Its face became twisted, its sharp angles and smooth surface exposed by the prevailing light, its face devoid of any true human features. Down its cheek ran a single tear of blood.

Slowly, the shadow enveloped the man, and gingerly lifted the limp body, slowly retreating back into the darkness. The polished floor revealed no reflection. No sound was heard, and no souls were to hear it. Once more, the shadow merged with the night, and disappeared, in the peninsula of the dead.

"Tis not over yet for you, no, not yet. The Snake has won his battle, but he will lose his war, his place in heaven. You must live, for there is no peace for the true warrior. The one's who fight and die pass their legacies to the living. But yours has not ended yet Gene. Not yet…"


	2. Act 1, Scene 1

**Act I, Scene 1: "Sweet" Gene Dreams**

_Gene cursed himself. Because of his own arrogance, he had lost not only Elisa, but, in succession, Metal Gear RAXA, Python, Null, and Cunningham, as well as a significant amount of his men. Cunningham himself was not much of a loss, as he would have betrayed him anyway, but his failure to stop Snake and retrieve the other half of the legacy meant that he would have to set back his plans. Without Null and Python, Gene could no longer blackmail the politicians into submission, and now could only rely on the threat of launching RAXA as a barrier between him and the superpowers. No matter, he thought. I still have Metal Gear, and all preparations for launch are complete. Now only…._

"-stable condition. Physiology is apparently hostile to any foreign agents, thus making it more resistant to the tranquilizer drugs, and unviable for use of nanomachines. Subject remains in a comatose sta-"

_-launched an intense volley of his razor sharp knives, while continually goading the battle-hardened soldier. _

"_What's it going to be Snake? Loyalty to your country, or loyalty to yourself?"_

_He projected his voice once more, focusing it on his opponent. _

"_Your country, or your old mentor? The mission, or your beliefs?"_

"_Shut up Gene!" cried the man hysterically. Gene laughed with twisted pleasure. The effects of his words on his enemies were always a source of satisfaction, something he had rarely felt during his days in the U.S. army…_

"_Your duty to your unity, or your personal feelings? How much more are you willing to sacrifice? Look at how much you've lost already!"_

_Snake emptied several rounds into the commander in hopes of silencing his venomous words, but to no avail. Gene simply dodged with his inhuman speed and began once more._

"_Can you truly say that there is no one who hates you? Is there no one who holds a grudge against you? No one who mocks you? No one who truly needs you? Is there no one out there, who would seek to kill you?"_

_Gene watched as Snake panted with unusual heaviness. It was working; with a little more push, the snake would be down._

"_Open your eyes, Snake! This is our calling! Our duty! There will be no more martyrs, no more scapegoats! Only superior soldiers! Superior force of will! The world can be rid, once and for all, from the grip of the Philosophers! Are you willing to throw it all away, for your country!? What kind of country deserves this much loyalty, Snake? _

_Snake no longer had the will to fight. Stamina drained, strength leaking from every pore in his body, he slumped, exhausted and despairing, against the wall, awaiting his fate. His legs were gone. He was out of breath, out of ammo, and almost out of life…_

"-pears to be no change in the subject, despite attempts to resuscitate from comatose state. Continue observation, and des-"

"_This is it Snake!_"_ shouted a triumphant Gene._

"_Soon, the Philosophers will be no more, and the world will be shaped to my will, to my desire! I will do it, with or without you."_

_Snake merely lifted his hand and gave the finger. F*** you._

_The Commander sneered as he raised his blade once more, preparing to administer the killing blow. Suddenly, felt a cold gust of wind run down his spine. Whirling around to confront this chill, a glint of black steel caught his eye as it whistled toward him. No time to dodge; with skill normally unknown to a knife fighter, Gene swung his knife to his front to parry the opposing blade. As they connected with an earsplitting KLANG, Gene was sent flying back by the sheer power of the blow. What!?!?, he thought, as his body connected with the rigid wall. The tremendous force nearly caused him to slip into the unconsciousness. With what focus he could muster, the bewildered Commander glared at the assailant; and his eyes widened. There stood a thin, yet imposing figure, yellow eyes piercing and dull gray hair waving in the breezed. His face was partially covered but it mattered not; all who saw it know and feared. It was the Null. It was the Perfect Soldier. _

"… a sudden jump in heart rate. We believe it may be due to sudden injection of large doses of the hormones. Further ex-"

_Gene cursed to himself yet again. He had expected Snake to have eliminated him. Instead, he had been defeated and recruited, much to Gene's chagrin. Thinking back, he remembered reading Null's portfolio, and it was Snake who had saved him at Mozambique._

"_Well, well, who do we have-"_

_Gene didn't have time to invoke his voice. And Null didn't give him the chance. The cold-hearted killer rushed instantly against his former commander, blade thirsting for blood. With an almighty fury, he delivered a barrage of slashes and brought forth a ferocious stream of attacks, nearly overwhelming Gene. He swung with accuracy and skill, forcing the astonished Commander into the defensive. The precision and speed at which the strikes were executed was astonishing, which before were crude and unrefined. Such ferocity was unseen before, and it nearly threw him off. A flick of his hand and another volley of knives were launched. They were deflected with ease. He's gotten better, Gene thought. Not too long ago, he would have been a pushover. But he had progressed, and now was a worthy opponent. Gene humored the irony. Regardless, he was superior in speed to even the Perfect Soldier. Finally releasing his restraints, Gene raised his speed to a shocking height and shot around the room like a comet, quickly placing after-images all over the room. It was trump card he had hidden, and took quite some skill to force him to use it. Null gazed calmly around at theses copies, and hesitantly shut his eyes. _

_Sight came with illusions, and with no sight, there could be no illusion. Gene, entirely unaware, moved in for the kill…_

"-all for today. I'll be heading to Berlin now; there is a meeting on what to do with the useless stockpiles of id-tagged weapons. Alpha one and two, guard the subject, all other units-"

_Gene could hear himself breath. Before he realized it, he was staring at the cold, damp floor. He felt the pain rip through his body as forced himself to his feet, but no sound escaped his lips; Gene would not give his enemy that satisfaction. Slowly turning his head, he observed the pure black machete, dripping with blood. His blood and his arrogance. With agonizing pain, Gene brought up his blade, possibly for the last time, facing his former pupil, and preparing for his last stand. Now he truly knew the fear that all men felt, in the presence of the Perfect Soldier. Gene readied…_

_*******************_

And like a plume of smoke, they vanished. His thoughts, the present, the past, all disappeared in a sudden wisp of air. Gone from his blank mind, lost to him, Gene regained himself.

"Hard to believe, ain't it?"

Foreign words began ringing through his ears, with an unusual wobbliness, something he had not felt before. He reached out his hand, but grabbed emptiness. The disgruntled commander forced his eyes open, but saw little, as the pain returned to his body. Where was he? Gene pondered this while listening closely to the foreign voices.

"Yeah, seriously. Who'd keep a corpse that long; it was like, what, forty years ago?"

Were they talking about him?

"Hey, hey, this IS the Commander who almost beat Big Boss all those years ago. Course, no one knows about it but us."

It was definitely him they were yapping about.

"Yeah, that's true", the other man conceded, "but what are THEY gonna do with'm?"

"Who knows? Probably use him in one of their hairball schemes to 'take over the world again.' Rumor has it they got a way."

"Sounds like a corny B-rate movie to me," muttered the other soldier.

The two men spoke in an odd manner, with odd jargon, unheard of by Gene before.

"Think about it! A guy who gave Big Boss a run for his money! Can't way to see the day. Maybe he'll find a way to get around those damned id-locked guns. Pisses me off we gotta use shit like this."

Gene frowned. This conversation did not make sense to him whatsoever. He felt like a Russian school kid in America: not understanding shit they said.

"Idiot, there not just gonna have him unlock guns. I've heard that that Russian nutbag's gonna use him for something. Can't believe he's still alive…."

Gene had enough. It was obvious that either these two were stark mad, or he'd been dead for a long time. A looong time. Now was the time to escape. Ignoring the seething pain, he tested each and every part of his body; arms, legs, neck, abdomen, head.

There were no injuries, and nothing which would hinder his movement. Gene slowly, with some difficulty, opened his eyes, and gazed at his surroundings. The two men were turned away from him, and they were in a room with much medical equipment: he had never seen such advanced technology in his life.

Gene was encased in some type of tank, filled with a musky-odor liquid. He was suspended in midair, thus rendering his Distortion useless; it could not be used without his feet on solid ground.

But he was no single-minded fool; a charge would be necessary to break through. Distantly remembering his past teaching, Gene summoned his massive energies, a faint golden glow collecting around him.

"Hey, is it just me, or is did it just get brigh-"

Gene shattered his prison with an explosion of his inhuman energy. With assassin-like skill, he deftly grasped the man's head and smashed it into the thick, concrete wall with a sickening crack.

He wasted no time in confirming the kill or wiping the blood from his hand, and proceeded to the next target. Apparently this guard was no amateur, rifle lifted and ready for engagement, finger depressing the trigger. The veteran guard side-stepped and reached for his tactical knife.

But it meant little against a product of the Successor Project, as the rife was deftly swiped from his hands. Another burst of speed, and Gene held him tight in a snakelike grip. Drawing the man's knife, he slid it slowly across the man's neck.

"Talk."

That was all the encouragement the frightened guard needed, and he quickly spilled his guts. From this shaking fool, Gene discovered that he was no longer in South America, or 1970 for that matter. The Cold War had long ended, and he was now a man without a time. It was 2014, three weeks after the Patriot incident, where almost all nanomachines (whatever that was) under the SOP crashed, leaving most of the worlds militaries and economies in shambles.

Even with this worthless man's word, Gene could not understand a thing he was talking about. These "nanomachines" and "SOP's" had not existed in his past life, and thus meant nothing to him. Thus, he moved on to more important issue.

"My belongings?"

Just down the hall, in the armory.

With no further use of the man, Gene quickly slit the man's throat, ending his short and pathetic life.

*******

The foreboding Commander pondered carefully as he slipped on his suit and trench coat. He had easily dealt with the earlier guards, as well as the one's defending the armory. But it was too easy. They had been mere amateurs at best (excluding, of course, the second killed); there guns were unloaded and unprepared, with filthy uniforms and little if almost no training whatsoever. It was like slaughtering cows. He had expected more from this new age, and these third rate wretches had dimmed his hopefulness. Gene completed his suiting up with his trademark beret and multitude of knives, hidden in every corner of his body and clothes.

Based on his observations, it appeared that Gene had failed in his attempt to destroy America. Despite great difficulty, Gene accessed this new technology, the "computer" and searched for information. Without great knowledge of its inner workings, the baffled commander was forced to click until he finally opened SOMEthing. It was a news file from a "website" that said the world was currently in a state of disarray and chaos, with all economies taking a hit from the "ceasefire". Again, he was baffled. Perhaps the best way was to merely go out and find the information for himself. After all, Gene was curious at how the world was now.

Gene treaded slowly through the hallways, silently dreaming of this new Earth.


	3. Act 1, Scene 2

Act I Scene 2: Gene's New World

Japan. After the end of World War II, it had suffered the greatest damage, taking two atomic attacks, total seizure of its military, and exclusion from the Philosophers. By the time the Philosophers had believed that it had been punished enough, only a few months after letting it join, Japan was literally on its knees from the post-war devastation.

Full control was given over with the signing of the secretive Japan "Purchase" Treaty of 1945 (which was stored in a certain Fort Knox, along with other secret goods) which quite literally handed over the entire island to them. In doing so, it allowed Japan's economy to accelerate at an unprecedented rate, and by Gene's time, it was becoming a world power. Perhaps, for some time in the future, it had been dominating the world, under the influence of the Philosophers. But not here, not now.

Gene gingerly trudged down the drenched street of a once bright and populated part of Tokyo. It was pouring rivers and lakes, but Gene did not mind; he had gotten use to the irritating monsoon like rains at the peninsula of the dead, and had thus learned to enjoy it. He would have been able to enjoy it more had it not been for this miserable city.

Only a little while ago, Gene had escaped the facility he had been held captive in, "convincing" the guards to let him go, and also "persuading" them to destroy the entire base. Afterwards, Gene swayed one of the guards to drive him to a nearby city, and kindly proposed that he should take his own life, which the guard promptly executed, ridding Gene of any potential evidence and witnesses. The Commander was a thorough man, as it was necessary if he were to destroy the Philosophers. If they still existed that was. All evidence so far pointed to their demise.

He had been expecting to see majestic cities, swarming with life, technologically and ecologically advanced, science and natures, perfecting balance, merging together. Instead he saw Tokyo (probably the Adachi district**), boarded and battered, decaying and rotten, negligence evident in every corner. It was a state of ignominy, filled with dozens of wretched beggars, laying half-dead on the streets with faces sullen and void, without emotion, without feeling.

Cars and tanks lay overturn and bleeding gushes of oil, soaking the street with a thick layer of ooze that remained stubbornly in place. The air was filled with a pungent, acrid odor, strong enough to make even the foulest of creatures retreat in disgust. Sewers, no longer submissive to the will of mankind, rebelliously spurted forth century's worth of human waste, noxious and toxic in unbelievable ways, melding with the piles of trash and despair that littered the city.

It was quite the distressing scene for a person who had been sleeping for forty years, and the man was NOT taking it well. Analyzing the Japanese themselves, he noticed that they were as morose as when he had observed them last during the 1945 occupation. An intriguing point that became fairly obvious was their lack of firearms. Many instead held swords, knives, and clubs where normally handguns, rifles and machine guns would be (he could swear he had seen a legion of shield wielding soldiers).

Not that Gene had any real issue, as bladed weapons made a much more interesting and exhilarating fight, but he found it odd at the sudden lack of projectile arms. He did remember one of the guards talking about useless id-tagged weapons; the irate commander cursed himself for not gathering more info before leaving. Pushing aside confusion and disappointment, he calmly assessed his situation, and resolved to look for a newsstand, or something of the sort.

Although Gene had familiarized himself with the language during the Second World War, time had passed, and was unsure his antiquated knowledge would be of any use. He glanced around attentively scanned the immediate area, before catching glimpse of several rough figures, slowly trotting toward him. The hawk-eyed commander had seen them several times, following his route as he traversed the city, and was now absolutely sure of their intentions.

Hinting nothing to alert his stalkers, Gene quickly sifted his way through the almost nonexistent crowd and crossed the black street and strolled into a narrow alleyway. It would be the perfect place for a counter ambush. And thus, he waited. Soon enough, several shadows blocked the miniscule amount of light entering, and Gene swiveled to face his enemy. The first man up was a young, no more than 20 years old, yellow haired, and yellow spiked; scars riddled his face, written in them his entire life; he wore a dark blue sweat shirt, and dragged his feet lazily as he walked.

"Whoa there foreigner, first time I've seen you walk this part of town. You're gonna have to pay a fee, you know, to local… leaders who, you know, run the area. It's for protection and all that good stuff."

Gene could hear snickering behind the man, but he simply said nothing and stared at the blond (probably bleached) haired fool. He was hardly afraid of a few yakuza.*

"What's wrong, don't understand Japanese or something? You deaf or just plain stupid? Pay your fees man, and, you know, you won't have ta get into any unnecessary trouble pal. Get my drift?"

The man greedily shoved his hand while simultaneously drawing a switchblade, junkies following suit, into Gene's face, but still he did nothing. At this point, losing his patience, the young punk angrily grabbed a portion of the trench coat and screamed in his face.

"The F**K asshole! Give us your F**kin cash or I swear I'm gonna-"

With speed no human could truly see, Gene brutally shoved a knife into the man's foul mouth (perhaps more unconsciously than he realized). The blond-haired man cried feebly in pain, convulsing on the floor while trying to pull out the weapon that had pierced his throat. The others retreated a few steps, shocked by this sudden attack. The glanced at their "boss", waiting for instructions.

"Lost your nerve?" Gene mocked.

Whatever fear they had felt was quickly displaced by sheer rage; the charged him with reckless abandon. Foolish, fragile, violent creatures, he thought silently as the attackers came forth. Drawing his knife with lightning speed, Gene parried the incoming sword, and deftly sliced through the man's jugular vein, then tossing him aside. He pushed aside the next man's brass knuckles, carving up his arm and piercing the poor fool's upper spinal canal, ensuring him a slow and painful death. The third attempted to attack from a blind spot, but was quickly thwarted with Gene's distortion, knives thrusting into the man's spinal column and in the same breath, crushed his trachea with a free hand. One man left.

The last man stood trembling, clearly visible by the quivering of his spear. His hand shook with unnaturalness barely gripping the spear.

"Well?"

One word was all it took. The frightened man threw aside his spear and bolted to his escape route. Before he realized it, knives sunk into his ankles, then hands. Gene quickly ripped off a piece of fabric and shoved it down the man's throat, tying a second piece so that he could not spit it out. The irate Commander gazed at the blonde haired man, and verified his death.

"Suffer."

With that Gene stepped away, the crimson blood slipping down his coat, merging with the endless rain.

As he did so, Gene immediately felt he was being watched once more. He could not tell where, and by the time he had attempted to locate the source, it had disappeared. (He made a mental note to keep constant alert.)

In a world which had advanced without him, the pessimistic soldier knew that he could not survive sufficiently well without discovering the technologies; he quickly devised a plan. Scouring once more, Gene focused his eyes on an easy target. Gently tapping the person's shoulder, he attempted his best to fake a terrible accent.

"Excuse me," he pronounced politely. The women nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Y-yes?," she stuttered nervously, suddenly jamming her hand into her jacket pocket, tightly gripping her purse with the other. Gene ignored this surprising gesture, and simply smiled.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, but I have only recently come to this region, and I'm afraid, I am woefully uneducated in terms of this places technology"

The whole time, Gene invoked his persuasive voice, albeit at a minor level, to better convince her of his harmlessness. She no longer gripped her purse, disarmed by the charlatan's suave words and handsome appearance. A further look revealed her stunning beauty behind the pale face, as well as a rather voluptuous figure.

"Yes?" The stutter had disappeared.

"Um, yes, anyway," Gene stammered purposely, turning away, feigning shyness, "This is quite embarrassing, but could you tell me how to use a computer?"

************

The woman was easier to manipulate than he had originally anticipated. After finding a battered, but still open "internet cafe", she slowly began instructing him on how to use a "mouse", how to search websites and search engines, how to save and store information on a "memory stick" (which she had conveniently provided), as well as getting an "email", which a confused Gene still did not understand. Luckily, the lady had not questioned him on his peculiar clothing, nor had she noticed discrepancies in his stories. And he hoped she would not.

Within twenty minutes, he had become extremely proficient in the use of a computer; the whole time he simply smiled, quickly gaining the women's trust (and even finding out some rather, "secret" information) as well as her name: Minato Tsurenai. He handed her a wad of cash, which he had taken from a guard, and gave it to her. At first, she refused, but quickly gave in with some "Persuasion."

With a much brighter face and bleach white smile, she briskly walked away, waving and smiling the entire time. With her gone, Gene was finally able to get to work. Taking a disc out of his pocket, Gene inserted it into the computer, and watched as several new screens popped up. He eagerly enlarged one of these screens, and read.

Somewhere not too far away, a figure with seemingly familiar piercing yellow eyes observed, lodged on top of one of the many decrepit buildings, watching, waiting, listening. It had made the mistake of allowing the man to detect him. It would be a mistake that would not happen again.


	4. Act 1, Scene 3

**Act 1, Scene 3**: New World, New Enemy

"What s the targets status?" questioned a gruff, heavily accented voice.

"Target has detected hunters. Attempting to flee location."

There was a brief silence.

"Acid Venus's attempt to track target has failed. Tracker decoy successful, target is unaware of presence."

A clicking of the tongue could be heard.

"At least it appears they are following my orders. Continue surveillance of him and J.U. Under no circumstances will detection be tolerated."

"Understood."

The voice silently grumbled, "Venus is making her move. Do not lose him."

The transmission cut off, and Void was left alone in the cold, damp darkness once more.

"Hunter Unit, pull back and flank target and point Oak. Do not allow escape."

*****************

The palpable feel of uncomfortable tension followed Gene as he quickly exited the café. His footsteps splashed loudly in the soaked sidewalks, conveying a certain sense of urgency. He had been so engrossed in the sheer volume of information, the endless data, that he neglected his internal warnings and allowed intruders to slowly creep closer toward him.

At one point, there had been so many that they could not be counted accurately. Holding shakily onto the few strands of calmness he had left, Gene glanced around, catching glimpses of cloaked men. Perhaps assassins.

Using the crowd, now a giant sea of heads, as cover, the now drenched commander slowly merged with the crowd. His pace slowed, and his head angled downward a slight angle. He allowed his face to become sullen and obscure, the emotions that did not exist to overwhelm him. Despair. Pain. After several moments, the numbers began to fade away, losing him in the crowd of despair.

Fewer, fewer, fewer, until Gene could sense no more. Shaking his head slowly, it became obvious that they could no longer see him. He let out a sigh of relief, muscles relaxing and senses normalizing. It was going to be a long day. He just knew it.

The rain had now become a trickle.

As Gene contemplated his next move, a blaring humming sound filled the air. After a few moments, it became a roar. Gene turned just in time to see a giant gunship hovering above him. The giant metal behemoth switched on a bright patrol light and focused the beam on him.

"Halt! Stand right where you are!"

A saturated voice filled the air.

"Put your hands on your head!"

From corners and alleys, armor clad soldiers streamed from their hiding places and stood their ground against Gene. They raised their rifles, heavy and clanking, outdated M240's and AK-47's. The men pointed their weapons clumsily toward their target.

Gene slowly raised his hands and froze. One of the soldiers, confused and inexperienced, was nudged forward by his "comrades", and began edging closer to Gene. The crowd on the streets quickly began to shuffle away, giving only quick glances to the man with the beret and trench coat.

"Commander Nugene, you are under arrest for actions against the United Nations!" shouted one of the men, their voice trembling.

He raised his eyebrow. They had even pronounced his name wrong

Closer he came, yet still Gene remained motionless. The distance was still too far. Soon he felt the barrel of the gun pressed against his back.

With unbelievable agility, Gene spun around and slammed his fist into the neophyte's face, distorting it horribly; his neck twisted in an almost complete 360 spin.

Wasting no time, the commander grappled him by twisting his arm back, quickly placing one foot between the man's and grasping the machine gun.

"Oh shi-!"

The antiquated weapon spit forth a furious barrage of bullets, mowing down many of the soldiers, others diving for cover like mad men. Gene twisted the disfigured man to face the copter and skillfully aimed at one of the external missiles.

He blasted away, and with a loud BOOM, it exploded in a grand display, with the copter losing its starboard stub-wing and overall control. As the pilot struggled to control the rogue craft, the churn of treads could be heads as tanks slowly rumbled down the pitch-black streets. Encouraged by this new reinforcement, the remaining gunmen brazenly opened fired.

His usefulness now complete, Gene yanked the pins off several grenades and kicked the man into the street. It was like the fourth of July. The poor soldier burst into a fiery inferno, turning the entire street into a flame engulfed road, quite literally a highway of hell.

Using several smoke grenades retrieved from earlier, Gene flung them at the still approaching tanks. He quickly charged himself and shot up to the roof and began hopping the tops. He continued along a zigzag path, checking for enemies and his new direction. Some distance away he saw a forest; for now it would be better than playing tag with those men. He quickly shifted his direction, and watched as the tanks mowed through buildings, attempting to get at him.

Out of nowhere, a long sleek object suddenly came advancing on Gene's head. Dodging reflexively, he watched as it slammed into the ground, sending sparks flying.

He stopped to face his new opponent, only to discover it to be the mysterious cloaked figure from earlier. And without another sudden realization, he became aware of the fact that there was more than one. Far more. Each carried what appeared to be an electrified staff and a fearsomely ferocious mask, twisted and sculpted in frightening ways. With astonishing speed, they quickly flanked Gene, cutting off his escape point. Unsheathing a knife, Gene rushed into the fray.

They swung cleanly and efficiently; there was no waste of movement or loss of time. They struck to kill, but maneuvered so exquisitely and intricately they appeared to dancers with swift and skilled movement. Each strike followed another, synchronized and powerful; they appeared determined not to give Gene any breathing room.

The skilled commander evaded their attacks by a hairs width, and stabbed one of the multitudes of cloaked figures, but he did not go down. Ignoring the pain and agony, the figure grabbed Gene's arm and smashed the staff into his stomach.

A violent jolt of electricity went through him. Gene broke away weakly and stepped back, only to be struck again, dropping his knife in the process. The pain exploded throughout his body, sending him into almost immediate shock. The pain was at an unbearable level, but he continued fighting, suppressing his agony.

Gene then pulled out a pair of knives, different from before; these were skull-busters, which he had designed specifically for more dangerous situations. He hoped that they would be enough to help him break through and escape.

Taking the offensive, Gene slashed, struck, and stabbed violently. Using his own falling momentum, he crushed into a part of the cloaked figures surrounding him and pounded his skull furiously, until it sunk a foot deep into the building roof. With a quick slice of his knives he sliced through their vulnerable necks and killed several.

He fended off their assaults and attempt at re-encirclement, flinging a stolen flash bang grenade as he dashed toward the next roof. Quickly taking cover, Gene jammed his fingers into his ears just as a blinding light flooded the area. Gene could hear screams of suffering and glanced to see fallen figures, clutching eyes and ears. With them incapacitated, he could not move much more freely; the pain now easing slightly lightly, Gene jumped to the next rooftop…

…only to hear the all too familiar humming once more. Like a beast liking its wound, the copter rose once more to face Gene. The pilot had finally regained control, and was thirsting for revenge. Recklessly flying low, the Gatling gun burst into life, blasting away the dilapidated landscape. Gene avoided with a painfully slow surge of speed, and continued heading toward the forest.

As he did so, he felt a throbbing pain at his ribs, and slipped on the wet ground, just as the copter launched a heavy missile, missing him by a head. As he lay clutching his burning abdomen, he saw several cloaked figures approaching. Now was not the time to wallow in pain. With the rekindling instinct to survive, Gene forced himself up and continued to run. But now he had a plan. Pulling off his skull-busters, he reached for another of his special knives, long and sleek.

He carefully calculated the distance before he, the cloaked pursuers and the gunship would all converge, and readied his left arm. With each moment, the cloaked assassins closed the distance between themselves and the injured Gene.

_Just a little more,_ he thought.

Now was the time; halting suddenly, a yellow glow collected onto Gene's arm. As the gunship came in for a low strafing run, the commander flung the knife as hard as his power would allow him. The shimmering black projectile sailed through the air like an arrow. It smashed through the armored cockpit and split the pilot's head almost clean in half, and continued to exit out the other side of the gunship.

Now a derelict, the gunship waved drunkenly through the air, and let out one last hum before colliding with the rooftops. It skidded across with a loud screeching sound and smashed through the cloaked figures like a bowling ball.

As Gene turned to view the fiery inferno, the gunship burst in a gigantic explosion, lifting Gene off his feet and sending him flying through the air. He was taken from the rooftops and struck the solid ground hard, dislocating his arm. Gene muffled his cry of pain, and quickly attempted to re-gather himself. It was dangerous to remain in the open any longer. The pain-ridden commander quietly limped into the vast darkness of the forest, and disappeared within moments, leaving only his shattered paradise behind.

***************

As the smoke cleared, a short, slender, female figure emerged from the wreckage of a once gleaming tank. She carefully wiped a greenish ooze from her katana, and watched as the man known as Gene retreated into the forest. She continued to stare through her thermal goggles as she carefully chewed her gum. As he faded from her sight, she leaps from her position and slowly switches on her radio.

"This is Acid Team. Tracking Target."

Drawing her twin green blades, the female assassin quietly chased her prey.


	5. Act 1, Scene 4

* * *

Fugtive Gene

* * *

Something wasn't right. He knew it. He could feel it. His fight had made it painfully evident. His sense was flawed; his movements were dull; his sight was terrible, and his head felt like he'd just been run over. He had made mistakes, far too many.

And he NEVER made mistakes.

These thoughts raced furiously within his mind as Gene limped weakly through the overgrown path. His eyes tiredly surveyed his surroundings. Nothing but the dense foliage and think trunks of the towering trees could be seen.

The echoes of the distant cries could be heard as the rains quietly faded into nothingness. The rumbling of treads and roaring of the raging fires were all but lost to Gene. The only other sound left was the uneven and quick movement of air into his lungs.

Gene sluggishly slipped off his coat and felt his labrum; the old doctor in him concluded that the capsule of the humerus bone had slipped out of the socket. There was a slight bulge where the swelling had occurred. Gene took a deep breath, and lightly grasped the dislocated arm.

In a quick and deft motion, he popped it back into place. The aged veteran stifled a yelp of pain as his body spasmed, and then went totally limp. Taking deep breaths, he awkwardly ripped a portion of his coat off and fashioned it into a sling, and clumsily tied it, fitting his arm gingerly onto the fabric.

There were indeed benefits in being a doctor on a battlefield, which he constantly reminded himself in dire situations. Exhausted, Gene leaned one of the many gigantic trees, sliding down slowly as his legs gave way. It was best for him to stay put, he decided.

He was beaten and bruised, leaving little chance of an effective escape anytime soon. The repeated electrical shocks had worn him down and numbed his muscles (luckily it wasn't high enough for him to lose control of his bladder). Even as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fist, he could feel nothing. He allowed his eyes to flutter and finally shut as his mind wandered off into an older world….

_He heard the voice as he picked up the phone_

"_It's me. Is that you, Ocelot? Somehow I knew it would be. "_

_A young, American accented voice responded: "Did they cooperate?"_

"_Yes, negotiations with the Kremlin were a success. They won't interfere with what's about to happen."_

"_Good. That's very good."_

_I must thank you for your help. When they saw the trajectory for Metal Gear, they knew that this was no bluff. The CIA must be in a total state of panic about now. _

"_All the better for us." Responded the other caller._

"_All part of your plan, I presume?"_

"_You could say that."_

"_Tell me something, though…you couldn't possibly have obtained the data on your own, could you?"_

"…_."_

"_There must be someone backing you. Who is it?"_

"_No one you should be concerned with."_

"_Never mind…I've got a fairly good idea who it is…The man with the same codename as Null. But you do realize your betraying your employer don't you?"_

"_Desperate measures, Gene."_

"_Just what is it you've got in mind? You're not…using me, are you?"_

"…"

"_No matter. We'll meet again, in a new world. One of my own creations. Until then, my friend, Ocelot."_

_As Gene hung up the phone, he suddenly sensed the presence of two people at the door. There was a quick knock as two soldiers stumbled hastily in._

"_What is it? What's happened?"_

"_P-p-pardon us sir!" stammered one soldier as he struggled to catch his breath, "But the Perfect Soldier, he's-"_

_The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the cries of pain as both were impaled by a dark, black, shining fang. The blood drenched figure calmly stepped forward as the corpses fell. _

"_Null…" Ursula whispered silently._

"_What's the meaning of this, Null? Why are you here?" ordered the commander._

_The crimson figure looked up._

"_I must complete my mission." Its voice hollowly answered._

_Gene ignored his last comment._

"_Stand down, Null", he commanded, with a greater tone of assertion._

"_Not yet", he replied._

"_He lives. I have not yet completed my mission."_

"_You mean Snake?", Gene inquired, "He's been captured. Your mission is complete. Stand down, Null."_

_The Perfect Soldier paused, apparently dazed by this piece of information. _

"_No. Why won't you die Snake?"_

_As the gray warrior uttered these words, Gene motioned his hand. In the blink of an eye, four soldiers leapt from their positions and prepared to subdue Null, taking advantage of his temporary moment of vulnerability._

_Too late. With one swipe of his giant blade, Null immobilized (Permanently) all four._

_Ursula stepped forward, powering her pyschokinesis, but suddenly stops with a quick hand movement of Gene._

"_Out of my way!", Null cried._

"_I'll kill him! I must kill him…I must…kill!"_

_Like an enraged fox, the disoriented soldier lunged toward Gene and swung his fearsome weapon with blind might._

_But he met only the thin air._

_Letting loose a squad of knives, the confident commander struck Null's arms and legs with pin point accuracy. The giant blade fell from the soldier's hand and slowly twirled toward earth. _

"_Huh?"_

_With devastating force, Gene smashed his palm into the soldier's chest, depressing it with several loud cracks. _

"_YOU WILL FOLLOW MY ORDER, PERFECT SOLDIER. I AM YOUR COMMANDER."_

_The lifeless body slammed into the opposite wall with bone crunching force, leaving an obvious indent as he slid limply to the ground._

"_Take him to the preparation chamber, and get these men to the ICU now," Gene commanded._

"_The Perfect Soldier has his memory reset after every mission. And yet, after a single skirmish, you managed to instill such strong emotions in him, Snake…"_

****************************

Gene stirred as he listened to the rattling of leaves and branches in the distance. He looked up and saw the clear night sky. He'd only been asleep for about ten minutes or so. Feeling the drowsiness overtake him again, Gene closed his eyes.

_******************************_

"_..He's certainly living up to his reputation. Don't you agree, Ursula?"_

_The seemingly frail young woman waved her small hand, and the door shut slowly and locked. She waited until the sounds of leather boots on hard concrete died out before speaking._

"_Perhaps. Has Metal Gear been loaded with the warheads?"_

_Gene strolled unusually placidly toward his wooden bench, rickety and dusty, hidden in a corner and calmly wiped the fresh blood of his blades._

"_Yes. Phase 2 is now complete. Now we need only to transport it to the silo for the final phase."_

"_And how exactly do you plan to do that, commander?" Ursula said as she slid over the splotches of blood, enjoying herself a little too much._

"_Getting it past the CIA's nose was hard enough and keeping the location concealed hasn't been very easy, even for me."_

_Gene continued to wipe his knives with an eccentric obsession._

"_I know that. Which is why we need to keep their attention away long enough to slip past them unnoticed. No doubt that Green Beret will try to free Snake. "_

_Gene abruptly halted his activities. Ursula, noticing this change, looked at him. The lines of the commander's face were heavily covered in the shadows, but it was evident that he was indeed smiling, the slight glint in his eyes and curvature of his face confirmed this._

"_Yes...it seems now would be the best time to let Snake go."_

_Ursula's eyes widened in shock. She was interrupted as she attempted to speak out._

"_Now, now, no need to give me that look; allow me to explain. As of now, Snake's men are most likely searching for his location. If we try to move Metal Gear now, there is a high probability it will be intercepted. The best way to get rid of mice is to give them better bait. Snake will be 'rescued' by his comrades, and will proceed to the Plant, the 'location' of Metal Gear."_

_Her face no longer pale, Ursula understood._

"_RAXA."_

"_Yes. Once he arrives on location, we can dispatch FOX soldiers and capture him for good. Then nothing will stop us from wiping the Philosophers from the face of this planet."_

"_But who exactly do you plan to let Snake go, and give him the information without him knowing?"_

_Gene did not answer, too busy silently grinding his knife. _

"_By Elisa. Your sister knows the location of RAXA now. I doubt she'll wait to tell Snake this. I'll arrange everything else. But for this to succeed, I need your cooperation, Ursula."_

_The young women retorted._

"_Is there really a need to ask?"_

_Gene continued to smooth his blade on the wetstone._

"_Alright. TIME TO WAKE UP, ELISA."_

GASHUNK

Gene turned his head in time to see a glistening green blade penetrating where his head had been.

"Finally, I found you."

The old commander rolled away awkwardly and got to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm. He staggered as he struggled to gain full consciousness.

A soft yet violet hissing sound could be heard as the assailant calmly drew the acidic sharpened edge from the dead tree, it slowly being eaten away by a jade-green substance. It dripped menacingly from the twin weapons.

He observed the would be assassin as a young, slender female, her face covered in what appeared to be thermal goggles. She wore military style clothing, splotched with colors of brown and tan, mixing oddly with her feminine physique.

She stepped slowly closer as she circled him, like a jackal on its helpless prey.

"You've been quite the hassle you know. Escaping and blowing up our base. It's a surprise the boss doesn't want you dead yet. You should be grateful."

He realized that she wasn't talking English; she was Japanese.

"Come quietly and I may play nice. But give me a hard time, and it's off with your arms."

Gene glared at her. The girl merely let out a sigh.

"Drop the tough guy act. I'm not impressed. Fighting a one armed man. Oooh, how scary."

Her blades suddenly glowed, lighting up the area with its brilliant hue.

The wounded commander carefully studied his options carefully. If he was captured now, he would be a fish out of the water. If he escaped, he could possibly obtain more information on his enemy; but that would be if he succeeded, something Gene doubted heavily.

"Well?", the young female asked.

He took the obvious one. Clutching his trench coat, Gene flung it in front of him, obscuring the assailants view. The female soldier dashed forward without delay and slashed the large piece of fabric into two, losing sight of her prey in the process. Bewildered, she suddenly felt her legs cave in under, and was shocked to see the target behind her.

Taking his precious few seconds, Gene sprung to his feet and leapt into the darkness. Forgetting his fatigue, his pain, his thoughts, he ran desperately to lose his predator.

The dazed expression quickly reverted from into annoyance as the female whipped up her blades and gave chase.

Gene maneuvered past the multitudes, zig-zagging, leaving false trails, and moving in intricate patterns, anything to slow down the enemy. If he did not lose her now, he was dead.

"Your digging your own grave!" echoed a voice.

He paid no attention to it and continued moving. Even as he went, Gene could see less than six feet ahead of him in the night.

He dodged the surprised night animals and thick branches as he moved from one place to the next.

After several minutes, the exhausted commander brought himself to a stop to check his surroundings. One of the most dangerous things that could occur is running in circles, and he couldn't afford to do that. As he surveyed the area, a sudden chill went down his spine. He ducked, just in time to see a nasty green blade from the corner of his eye sizzle past his head.

"Nice try, old man, but there's no escaping me" a voice shrilly declared.

Gene struggled to lift her tired body as he dodged her attack. Taking advantage of his sluggish movement, she kicked Gene's leg from underneath him. Payback.

He wobbled as he tried to hold himself up, and received a sharp, piercing pain on his side. The commander turned to see the young female, smiling, and injecting him with some kind of liquid. He planted his foot firmly into her stomach and watched, for the second time, her surprised expression as she was lifted into the treetops.

He ripped out the syringe and tossed it aside, but it was already too late. His body instantly seized up as he took another step; the world became a huge palette of dark green and black blurs as he slammed into the ground. He squirmed in an attempt to get up, but found his arms and legs unresponsive.

He stopped suddenly as the feeling of impending doom came upon him. A bright green blur slinked slowly toward him. He could hear the indignant huffing of a certain person as the blur stepped over him. There was a pause.

"Commander, Acid Venus reporting. Subject has been recaptured. Requesting transport."

Gene could hear nothing, despite the total silence, which he attributed to the effects of the drug. He continued to fight and free himself from a nonexistent grip.

"Understood. I'll make sure he doesn't get away this time."

There was a note of irritation in her tone. Not good.

He froze as the giant blur slowly lifted the fuzzy green object high into the air.

"Lucky day 'Gene'," the assailant taunted, "You only get to lose ONE arm today."

He watched as it descended upon him, like a snake going for the kill.

There was a terrible scream.

And everything went black.

* * *

I do not own Metal Gear Solid or am in any affiliated with Kojima Productions. If you like this chapter, please **REVIEW**. It lets me know whether what I'm writing is good or not and I like to have feedback. For those who have played Portable ops, you'll see a familiar scen again. And on a final note, please tell me if you see any errors, grammatical or story wise.


End file.
